"That's--" Lisa said. "Wow."

  "Miss Yamamoto," Ruby said, "I think I'd like you to handle some of this."

  "You would?"

  "I would. Keep track of your time," Ruby said, "and I'll see to it you're fairly compensated. But I feel like we ought to take advantage of the fact that you're not officially on our payroll yet."

  "Ma'am?"

  "I just think that you doing the research, getting a list of what cities the floundering fascist road show is planning on playing, and shooting a few emails to venues to check their availability on those days won't raise the kinds of red flags that might pop up were someone under our corporate umbrella to be doing those things. Especially when the emails come from a Texas IP address. See, Jaccob," she said, sipping her champagne as she glanced sideways at him, "I listen when you talk." Ruby turned back to Lisa. "Do you think you can handle this?"

  "Um ... yes, ma'am," Lisa replied.

  "Good," Ruby said. "And I really don't mean to monopolize your downtime. If you want to send these inquiries from the pool or the bar, that's fine by me. I rarely care where the work gets done as long as it's getting done. Let me know when we can start booking venues. I'll get you the means to do that, and then I'll get you on the phone with Meg and her manager so you all can start making very quiet travel plans."

  "On--" Lisa blinked rapidly and took a sip of her drink. "On the phone with Meg?"

  "Is that going to be a problem?" Ruby asked, setting her champagne glass down as she turned her chair to better face Lisa. "Because if you're going to work for me, you're going to be working with celebrities. It's literally the job description."

  "Oh ... um ... no, ma'am," Lisa said. "It's not a problem, it's just ... it's a lot. But if I can sit across from A-Girl and keep calm, I can talk to MerMeg on the phone."

  "It is a lot," Ruby said. "I appreciate you taking it seriously. And speaking of A-Girl, I think you should loop Angel in on this. The only thing I can think of to make a MerMeg appearance more exciting would be to add a pretty blonde superhero songstress to the bill."

  "You mean that?" Angel asked, leaning forward on the sofa and turning to look Ruby in the eye.

  "Of course I do."

  "I think that would be amazing. I'm happy to help."

  "And I think it will be fun to remind Prather that his side doesn't have the market cornered on hot young blondes," Ruby said.

  "Oh, hey," Angel said, taking the remote from Kara's hand and pointing it at the television. "Look! Kara found a travel special on Lapis. We should watch this."

  The others nodded their agreement as Angel punched the button to start the program.

  Ruby turned her chair again, startling Jaccob, who had been gazing at her in wonder this whole time. She smiled wryly as she picked back up her champagne.

  "Congratulations," she said softly.

  "Huh?" Jaccob frowned.

  "Your P and L is no longer the most annoying thing on this flight."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Part hotel, part "experience," the Golden Century was the kind of destination that could only exist in Texas. A mere ten minutes away from the tiny Lapis airport, the resort's main tower reached sixteen stories into the sky, the whole thing a sheet of gold-tinted windows that reflected the afternoon sun with enough intensity a person had to squint behind their sunglasses to look directly at it in daylight. Its lower floors, however, were fashioned to look less like a modern hotel and more like an oversized copy of the sort of mid-century bungalow most often found on a Palm Springs postcard.

  It was, in a word, tacky.

  But that was by design. And what's more, it was entirely fitting with the aesthetic of Lapis, Texas. The whole town was a made-up destination in the middle of what had very recently been absolute nothingness. Lapis was a false oasis in the tumbleweeds dreamt up by developers and tax assessors to draw exactly the clientele it did: a mix of somewhat-locals and cross-country travelers all in search of a wholly manufactured "wholesome" travel experience.

  The Golden Century was the pinnacle of a certain style of tribute to bygone luxury. Not one inch of the place was truly high-end, but no one who chose to vacation in this city would likely be able to tell. It was the nicest place in Lapis by a long shot, but that didn't make it a quality accommodation.

  "Anybody else feel too ethnic to be here?" Friday asked the others.

  "Nah," Yumi said. "We work for the rich white lady, so we're gonna be okay."

  "I heard that," Ruby said, not bothering to turn around and face them.

  "Hey, it's a genuine concern," Friday said. "I'd really rather not spend the next couple of days being mistaken for one of their maids."

  Ruby stopped cold in her tracks and turned around, catching Friday's gaze immediately. "While we are here investigating the possibility of someone going back in time, we have done no such thing. This, Miss Jones, is nothing more than a run-of-the-mill theme hotel. All the aesthetic, none of the bullshit. A taste of the mid-century, but missing the racism, sexism, misogyny, homophobia, antisemitism, and other nonsense that plagued this country in that era. Or," she added with a tiny frown, "at least not any more of that stuff than exists anywhere else in this day and age; we are in Texas, after all. However, even with that consideration, you are here with me, and this hotel knows better than to dare treat any member of my complement with anything less than the utmost care and respect. You're perfectly welcome, and you're perfectly safe. Now, can we please check in? I've got work to do."

  Friday was frowning, but she nodded.

  They'd walked no more than half a dozen steps into the lobby when they were accosted by a tall woman in a modern suit wearing a name tag that identified her as the hotel's manager. She was flanked on all sides by a cadre of uniformed bellmen who could have stepped directly out of an Audrey Hepburn movie.

  "Miss Killingsworth," the woman addressed Ruby, "We have your rooms ready."

  Ruby nodded, but neither did she slow her walk nor do anything else to acknowledge the approaching assembly.

  "Mr. Stevens," one of the bellmen addressed Jaccob. "If you'll come with me, I'll show you to Get Smart."

  "And Miss Sparx?" another one called.

  "Yes," Kara replied, moving through the crowd toward the sound of her name.

  "I have you in the Buck Rogers suite. If you'll come with me."

  "Okay," Kara replied. "Sure."

  "Miss Yamamoto, Miss Kujikawa," one of the young men read from a card, managing to almost pronounce both Yumi's and Lisa's surnames correctly. "You're going to Gunsmoke."

  "Miss Jones and Miss DeSantes," the last one read from a pair of cards.

  "That's us," Angel said, raising one hand and grabbing hold of Friday's free hand with the other.

  "You will be in Bewitched and Superman respectively," the bellman told them.

  "Bewitched?" Friday asked.

  "Superman?" Angel asked.

  Those might have been rhetorical questions, but the manager had an answer anyhow. "All our suites are entertainment themed."

  "Ah." Friday shook her head, but she broke off with the others to follow the bellman.

  "Ladies," Ruby called out before any of them could get too far. "I'll see you tomorrow night, ten to seven, dressed for evening, in front of the main showroom doors. Your time is your own until then. Enjoy the hotel, go out on the town ... I don't give a damn. But don't be late, don't be sunburned, and don't be hungover. Do you understand?"

  A chorus of nods and sounds of affirmation followed, along with one disappointed sigh.

  Ruby clucked her tongue. "Miss Kujikawa, I heard that."

  All that agreed, the hotel staff started to move again, leading the others toward the main bank of elevators at the center of the lobby. Ruby made brief eye contact with the manager, who fell into step beside her as they began walking as well.

  "I have you in the Presley suite, as always, Miss Killingsworth," the manager said. "I've had the Scotch decanted and the piano tuned. Is there anything else you require before this evening?"

  "No, thank you," Ruby replied. "I have a car coming in an hour, and I'll want to leave out the back."

  "Would you prefer to use the loading dock?"

  "Oh, no," Ruby said. "The side door will be fine."

  "We'll have fruit and cheese for you when you return," the manager said.

  "Good," Ruby answered. "Yes. Have a bottle of Burgundy up there as well."

  She followed the manager down a hall and around to a bank of elevators that were hidden from the main thoroughfare. The manager pulled a badge from her belt and placed it against a palm frond carved into the brass façade of the wall, causing the elevator doors to slide open immediately.

  It was a short ride up the sixteen floors, and Ruby followed the manager down the familiar hallway and through the double doors of the Elvis Presley suite. The luggage had come in a separate vehicle from the airport, and the butler was finishing her unpacking as she arrived.

  By the time the staff was done in the room, Ruby had a little more than forty minutes to freshen up and get changed for her outing.

  The Elvis Presley suite was every bit what a person would expect when they heard the words "Texas Opulence." The whole thing was done in shades of gold, with walls and shelves paneled in imitation burled maple, and a gleaming white grand piano beside the heavy-draped windows in the corner of the main room. The salon also featured a marble bust of The King himself on a pillar between a pair of white Naugahyde chairs, all across from a too-long green velvet sofa. The matching sofa table and coffee table, done in gold-tone and glass, were piled with welcome gifts: an arrangement of yellow roses peppered with purple camellias and peonies sat beside a card hand-signed by the hotel owner, and Ruby's preferred Scotch had been decanted into cut glass with a matching ice bucket and tumblers.

  The bedroom walls were covered in what only the most discerning guests would be able to tell was polyester--not silk--taffeta, and the furniture, all ivory with gold dry-brushed shading, was the style of 1970s-era Rococo revival construction that wouldn't have been out of place in Graceland itself.

  If there was ever a place more phony, Ruby Killingsworth had never seen it. She could only hope Simon Floyd would prove to be more genuine than the goose down in the bedroom comforters.

  But that was tomorrow's problem. Tonight's problems were something else altogether.

  Ruby had never enjoyed Texas fashion sense. The aesthetic of wearing soft and flowy dresses with denim and boots was a perfect storm of stacking her least favorite fashions into a single look.

  But then again ... when in Rome ...

  For tonight to go the way she needed it to go, she'd have to blend in. So it was, albeit begrudgingly, dressed in a navy-on-black brocade print silk jersey midi dress and blazer-cut denim jacket that she stepped out of her suite for the evening's excursion. There were some aspects of summer fashion that, thankfully, were universal enough not to be subject to regionality, so a nude pump was perfectly reasonable, which Ruby found comforting, as she refused to become so Texas as to wear either cowboy boots or a hat.

  She'd be seated most of the night anyhow, and it was going to be dark. Nobody would be able to tell she hadn't gone wholly native.

  She was halfway to the elevator when she heard footsteps behind her. Ruby frowned. Unless the hotel had done something they shouldn't have, her party had this whole floor to themselves--meaning whoever was behind her was someone she knew, and therefore someone she would likely have to speak to.

  But whoever it was would have to speak first.

  Ruby slowed her walk a little. If she had to make pleasantries with one of her employees, she didn't mind, provided they were headed to the same elevator she was. Then again, there was every chance it was a member of the hotel staff who would let her go on her way.

  But no, she was sure within moments that wasn't the case. Because the moment her pace slowed, the footsteps behind her quickened. Whoever was coming was trying to catch up. And that meant she was going to have to be pleasant.

  "Hi," she heard just as the other person caught up to less than a pace behind her.

  It was Jaccob's voice.

  What the hell?

  "Jaccob." She slowed her walk further, so he'd have a slightly easier time catching up but didn't fully come to a stop. She had a car waiting and a place to be.

  "I was ... um--"

  Ruby did stop then, turning on her heel to face him. When Jaccob got tongue-tied, there was only one way to snap him out of it, and that involved looking him square in the eye. He stopped abruptly as soon as she turned, wringing his hands at his waist and fidgeting a little.

  "Yes?" she asked.

  "I don't--" he began again. "I don't know what the others are doing, but I was going to, that is, I was about to come and ask if you'd like to, go get some dinner maybe?"

  "While that is very dear of you, I think you can probably guess I have plans and am on my way out."

  "Oh. Okay. Yeah. I'll ... uh ... see you tomorrow then."

  Ruby looked back at Jaccob. Had he meant that like a date? Or was he really just so lonely and out of sorts he hadn't thought about what asking her to dinner might sound like? Either way, he looked a little pitiful. She couldn't help herself. "Although I suppose you could join me. How do you feel about country music?"

  "What?"

  "You know what? Never mind. Are you coming or not?" She was in a hurry, and whether or not he tagged along for her outing, Ruby was going to be in the elevator within the next fifteen seconds.

  ~

  Jaccob wasn't sure of the last time he'd been so confused, although there was every chance Ruby Killingsworth had been involved in that, too. "Um ... sure," he said finally. "Yes. Yes."

  Ruby nodded and kept walking, pulling her StarPhone from her jacket pocket as they headed toward the elevator. She pressed a button and spoke into the device. "Slight change of plans. Tell them I'll have a plus one. He drinks whiskey, same as me."

  Jaccob followed her the rest of the way down the hall and into the elevator, half afraid to ask her what was going on and half just relieved she'd invited him out with her instead of shooing him down the hall.

  Ruby typed on her phone for most of the elevator ride, and when the doors opened on the ground floor, she slid the device into her pocket then took off through the lobby at a clip that made Jaccob have to scramble to catch up to her.

  "Everything okay?" he asked, as he followed her down a nondescript hallway.

  Ruby only nodded. She neither spoke nor looked back at him. That was her game face, and he went along with it.

  The dark-tinted glass door at the end of the hall came open as they approached, and Ruby charged through it, then straight into the open door of a town car parked beside the adjacent curb.

  Jaccob followed her into the car, getting himself seated just as the driver shut the door behind him.

  "Sorry about that," Ruby said, as the driver took his seat and put the car in gear. "I needed to get out of there without being spotted. I don't have time to 'celebrity' right now. I'm sure you understand."

  Jaccob nodded. He did understand. He remembered a time in the early Stardust days when he couldn't reliably go into any public place without being asked for an autograph. These days, he was just as apt to get obscenities flung his way. Damn Prather. Nonetheless, he understood not having time to deal with the public.

  It was a short car ride, probably less than a mile, and Ruby spent the majority of it looking down at her phone just as she had in the elevator. When they stopped, it was outside what looked to be an old-fashioned saloon. Jaccob knew just enough about this town to know it was probably a reproduction. The driver let the two of them out of the car and dashed past them to hold open the door to the building.

  Ruby led the way down a narrow hallway, past a doorman and a coat check, and up a shallow ramp beside a bar that spanned the width of the building. At the far end of the large room was a stage, with tiny round tables filling the floor in the middle distance.

  "Good evening, ma'am," a woman greeted Ruby as she slid from the end barstool to meet the newcomers at the top of the ramp. "We've got your table ready, with a second chair and a second glass. Is there anything else we can do for either of you?"

  "Not at the moment, Patricia," Ruby said. "Thanks. But he's liable to get hungry."

  "Kitchen's closed on Monday," Patricia replied. "But I can have Max bring up a basket of popcorn just as soon as it's popped. Or I can--"

  "I'm sure that will be satisfactory, thank you." Ruby cut her off before she was able to make any further offers.

  Patricia was visibly relieved. She smiled back at Ruby and nodded. "If you're ready, you should head on up. The show's going to start any minute."

  Ruby inclined her head toward Patricia, then blew past Jaccob toward the opposite wall. Patricia followed, reaching past Ruby to pull back a black velvet curtain that Jaccob had mistaken for a decorative wall hanging.

  Ruby ducked through the opening it exposed and passed from Jaccob's sight almost immediately. He darted through the curtain behind her, hoping he'd be able to see where she'd gone once he was on the other side.

  "What is this place?" he asked, as he followed her up the narrow flight of stairs he found behind the curtain. It was dark in here, cramped and rough--very much the opposite of the kind of place he'd imagined Ruby frequenting.

  "It's Monday," Ruby said, still climbing the stairs, "which I'm sure means nothing to you. But in show business, it means the night off. So all these kids who make their living singing backup for whatever washed-up wannabe rhinestone cowboy passes for a headliner in this town get to use Monday night to express themselves as artists. The ones who want to dance on Broadway are doing karaoke across town at Mae's. I promise, you do not want to see that. But the ones who dream of country and western stardom come here--to the Tin Horn--for the open mic."

  Ruby passed through a second set of curtains as she finished, onto a small balcony overlooking the tables downstairs. There was only one table up here, a smaller and slightly nicer iteration of the ones on the floor below. At the table were two carved wooden chairs, upholstered in orange velvet that looked long overdue for a proper cleaning, and on its top was a decanter of whiskey and a pair of matching glasses.

 

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